


a distant memory of skin

by twistedingenue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Porn with Feelings, Touch-Starved, memory-starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedingenue/pseuds/twistedingenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, he remembers the way skin felt against skin. When it’s yours and when it’s someone else’s and there’s the heat and the uncertainness of how best to share the stolen moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a distant memory of skin

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to bluroux and kittywings01 for beta-reading and missmeggo for the serious discussion of cock versus dick.

Sometimes, he remembers the way skin felt against skin. When it’s yours and when it’s someone else’s and there’s the heat and the uncertainness of how best to share the stolen moments. Bucky remembers, and that was always a problem, before; before this new, strange now, to have memories. To feel a distant whisper of skin. His hand, both hands, finding areas both delicate and hidden under silk stockings. He remembers that.

During, Bucky wasn’t supposed to remember anything, but some memories are kept under the skin.

Now, his heart races and his lips glide down the side of Darcy’s neck, to find the creases and hollows of her collarbones. Bucky wants to commit this to memory, too, a new chance in a new world, but some things are still the same. She’s not the first woman that’s caught his eye since the world came into focus again, when all his selves realigned. But she’s the first that’s kept his attention since Bucky’s put himself back together bit by bit.

 

And she keeps it so nicely. Not quietly, either; she demands, pulls his shirt off first, before he gets more than a button undone on hers. “Wow,” she says so bright and clear, pulling away and propping herself upright on her elbows. “Wow.” She reaches out, which arches her back so slightly, and drags a hand down the center line of his chest. She laughs and shakes her head. “I am a lucky woman right now.”

Her eyes take all of him in, and there’s no part of him that isn’t under a pleasurable scrutiny. Even down to the fickle-leafed scarring, the dirt and grime that settles in between the raised and angry lines, it’s all something good to look at.

She’s the first that he’s felt actually could.

It doesn’t matter what he does, his arm will whir brutishly as he moves it, it was not designed with stealth in mind, but it takes to fine articulation well, and works in tandem to slip the buttons through their neat, assigned holes. He does it with care; it’s rude to make a woman repair her blouse, but care has it’s rewards. Each undone button reveals more and more soft and paler skin. Skin for miles, for days, for him to remember.

His skin remembers, longs for the contact, and he lifts her up a little, helps her take the shirt off without tangling her arms. She unclasps her bra, a sly, jewel-toned but sturdy thing. Different than he remembers, but not so much to be unfamiliar. It doesn’t really matter, because it’s gone, and Bucky’s going to get lost in her breasts.

It’s his turn. “Wow,” he says, mimicking her expression before. “Wow. I’m pretty lucky, too.”

“Watch it, I can throw a pillow at you at any time,” Darcy jokes and squirms as he shifts his weight to lay on his side, leaning back on his arm for support, and he too, draws his fingers down her chest, though the valley between her breasts and the slight rise of her stomach. She’s no little thing, nothing flimsy, won’t break under his weight.

So he teases and caresses with his hands (and with his lips, and teeth, and tongue) her breasts, the wide and darker nipples, until she’s whimpering and pawing at his waistband. And kisses him with such ferocity that she sends him to the flat of his back, not stopping — just opens his mouth wider with a swoop of her tongue as she rolls over on top of him. Her body pressing against him, all that skin, all that contact, all that memory to keep. It’s his, it’s his, the body sings, this is his cherishment and what he’s longed to remember again.

He will remember: the way Darcy’s hair falls across her face as she looks down to find the top button of his jeans. He will remember: her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration as she lowers the zipper and shrugs the fabric down to his knees. He will remember: the feel of her hands over his ass when he lift his hips to deal with his underwear. He will remember: how hot her hand feels when she wraps it around his dick.

“That’s a good look on you,” Darcy says after a sharp breath. “With your eyes rolling back in your head and everything.” And her hand moves, soft skin on soft skin, her thumb playing over the head and foreskin. Every touch is like fanning a terrible fire, threatening to escape its confines at any moment. 

And he absolutely cannot let that happen. “Come here, it’s your turn. What are you hiding there?” he says, reaching for her pants. 

She slides off, her smile turning devastating and looks through her eyelashes at him. She stands and turns away with her thumbs hooked inside of the waistband. “I’m not hiding anything at all, you see?” Darcy bends over at the waist, bringing all the fabric down to her ankles before stepping out of it. She’s going to up and kill him, the sight of her ass, the tantalizing tease of her pussy.

Straight up and going to kill him and he sits upright and at the edge of the bed. “Jesus, Darcy, get over here.” Her pulls her in, his face at the small of her back, and he kisses the curving lines, salt and sweat and the resilience of skin. He eases his his fingers through her folds, pleased at how wet she already is, and searches out that spot that always seemed to be a perfect secret.

“Shit, damn, I thought old guys didn’t know anything about the clit.”

“It’s not like you just invented sex last month,” Bucky says, amused, and stroking two fingers alongside her clit before circling over it. “You should be reasonably assured we had it well in hand for centuries before you came along.” His metal fingers are splayed against her stomach, still and careful not to make sudden movements that would require rearticulation, but rising and falling with her quickening breath and moans. 

Darcy’s thighs tense and fire with increasing speed, she bends over, gives more of her weight to Bucky to try to keep her balance, a rivulet of sweat falls in line with her spine. He can’t wait to see her face in the aftermath and, in the future, in the during. But right now, he’s committing every twitch of her muscles to memory, every loss of balance and soon enough — how she straightens, arching from the middle of her beautiful back and up through her neck until the back of her head rests on his shoulders.

Her hands rest on his body and grip him in equal measure as she collapses against him entirely. His arms wrap around her and his whole body revels in the thin sheer whisp of air that could fit between them. He loves the way she looks with her chest heaving, her ribcage expanding. The mechanics of her body work perfectly in synch, to produce and provide pleasure.

When Darcy starts to move, he lets her go and turns around, never wanting to restrain her if she doesn’t want to be. It’s curious, always has been, how the deep flush of sex and want looks so radiant, a devilish cast over a heavenly body. “You just never give up when you get going, do you?”

“It’s a mission freely undertaken,” Bucky answers, touching his tongue to his lips.

An unsure moment crosses over her eyes replaced quickly by a clearness of purpose. “I am so going to have to ride you into oblivion.”

He raises his eyebrows, and the wicked little grin on his face feels like an old memory. Always liked forward thinking women. “If you must….”

“Shut up, and where do you keep your condoms?” Darcy tosses her hair, thick and glossy, shimmering in the light that slips through his curtains.

Thank goodness he stocked up once he realized that what was between him and Darcy was a relationship, not something idle to pass the time. He points, and Darcy leans over him to reach for the bedside table. Her breasts hang heavy, and Bucky takes the opportunity to provide her with a little support by way of his hands. The condom lands on his chest, and Darcy comes back to straddle him with a small bottle of lube. She slicks up her fingers and presses two into herself, while he deals with the rubber.

She leans over to kiss him, sweet and intoxicating, a perfect lushness of plump lips, before she readies his dick in her hands to hold him still before she begins a downwards descent onto him. The slide and stretch of the willing, a wanton need being filled, without hesitance or wariness. Bucky swears in relief before she even really moves.

And then, she does. Sure and steady as the noonday sun’s light, her thighs bracket his, her hands guide his to where she wants them to go, leading, desiring. All this woman, above him, for him to appreciate as her hips keep time to their quickening heartbeats. Her closed eyes, her lip caught in her teeth, her breasts bouncing as he adds his own thrusts. There, he creates his own syncopated rhythm. There, he meets her measured beats. There, they find the song between them.

Bucky wishes he could last a little longer but the pressure builds so quickly, yearning towards a release, that it’s just too late to stop. Everything boils down to the raw need of sex, and Darcy’s steady wondrous gaze, watching his face — and her hands intertwining with his. His dick jerks deep inside of her, and he comes with the sunlight shining through Darcy’s hair.

There are things, memories of touch and sensation, that have stayed with him for decades. Locked deep; deep enough that no one could erase them fully. But this moment, this is a new memory for a new life.

Later, after the sticky, sweaty realities and practicalities have been dealt with and he’s coaxed Darcy down to curl up on his chest to rest a little while, they half-heartedly spin plans in the air. Things to do, people to see, all things that can change in structure and in form, but there are important things. The smell of her hair, a brush of lips, a smile as eyes close and sleep takes over. Just for a little while, to help them remember.

**Author's Note:**

> I can always be found at [ my tumblr](http://twistedingenue.tumblr.com) Please come by and say hello!


End file.
